


Tearing Down Doors of Time

by blakesparkles



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst and Feels, Anxiety, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Kissing, M/M, Memories, Mild Blood, Nightmares, Pining, Rain, Romance, Sharing a Bed, Vulnerability, a bit self-indulgent?, doubts, so much pining, this is a bit closer to canon than what im used to bUT hey vENT aksdjadj, this is a vent piece but trust me!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-28
Updated: 2019-03-28
Packaged: 2019-12-25 22:07:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18270191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blakesparkles/pseuds/blakesparkles
Summary: There’s a pang in his heart, first words falling from his lips.“You forgot about me.”





	Tearing Down Doors of Time

**Author's Note:**

> Having been on my best so I felt like putting down some words and this vent one-shot happened. I'm still working on a multi-chaptered fic of them, so for now I hope you all enjoy this!!

"There is no place for time here  
Just overlapping moments where I thought I'd found you  
Where I thought I heard the sound of your breath  
Where I felt your heart as it waited patiently for mine  
Retracing the steps that we left in the life before last  
Before our eyes closed  
Before the great divide  
Before a doorway stood between you and me"  
Find Me by Forest Blakk

 

Raindrops.

 

He blinks, looking up at a dark sky, and rain falls down from the clouds. Cold drops hit his face, wet hair sticking to his forehead, and he shudders. He feels his heart beating, slowly against his ribcage, and his lips part. Tasting the rain on his split tongue. The man’s green eyes flicker at the sky, watching the raindrops blend with the stars. He can’t tell them apart, only feeling them damp his skin. The green-haired man knits his eyebrows and he moves a hand up to his throat, and everything feels like it’s in slow motion. Eyelids heavy, batting rain away, and his icy fingers brush against an open wound. It stings and he looks down when there’s something warm trickling down his arms. The man sees red, thin ribbons of blood from that cut, and he cups his neck with both hands. He chokes, a sudden bubble of air making him gag, and a strong metallic taste invades his mouth. He spits out blood, dripping down his chin, and yet he’s so calm. The green-haired man notices the rest of his body, his soaking black clothes, and everything is so dark.

 

There are no thoughts. No cobwebs lying on the corner of his mind. Not even static. It’s just pure void and he takes a deep breath, closing his eyes. The buzzing sound of rain is soothing to his ears, every drop like a light needle. Another shudder and another choke. His chest lazily rises. Up and down. A steady breathing while blood streams down his throat. Pale arms smeared with crimson. He looks up at the sky once more and then there’s light behind him. The green-haired man sees his own shadow before him, casting down due to that brightness in the middle of the night, and he hears something familiar. Something that sparks in his mind and make his fingers twitch. A voice.

 

“Who’s there?!” it shouts and the man finally gathers strength to turn around, arms falling to his side. He blinks again, mouth ajar, and he sees a person standing on a porch. Something crosses on the stranger’s face, eyebrows going up and eyes widening, and his voice falters in the rain. “A-Anti?”

 

And like a supernova, there’s a wave of memories that flood his mind and emotions shattering into his heart. Anti. His name. The wound gently closes it, skin-to-skin, and he stares at the boy before him. Seán. Anti finally realizes where he is, surrounding making itself known, and he’s standing on the Irishman’s backyard. He’s barefoot, wet grass brushing against his skin, and the brown-haired man shakes his head. He calls for the man, urging him to come inside in a shaky tone, and it still takes a few seconds for Anti to step forward. He's aware of every muscle moving while he walks. Every sound, quickly lost in the rain, and Seán’s silhouette turns clearer. The brown-haired man curses under his breath, saying something about him being soaking wet, and he practically pulls Anti into the house before closing the glass door. The rain is muffled now and the man’s creating a puddle on the white floor. Light pink, blood still on his skin. He stares at Seán, almost afraid to blink in case he disappears. The boy’s beard is a bit more full than the last time he remembers and his hair is longer, tied up in a short bun. Undercut. His sapphire eyes seem to be searching something in his too and the Irishman’s astonished.

 

Seán’s breathing loses its pace and he cups Anti’s face, trembling hands holding his cheeks. The man lets out a gasp under his breath, taken aback by that touch, and Seán complains that he’s freezing. God, his voice. Anti doesn’t know how long it’s been since he last heard the boy. He can only stand still while the Irishman runs further into the house, saying something about getting towels and clothes. There’s a thunder outside and the green-haired man looks around, seeing a familiar living room. A black couch and television. A coffee table and Seán’s favorite armchair. He looks at a record player, a memory kissing his mind, and he recalls how the Irishman would dance and sing loudly. That he would ask Anti to join him, smiling when the man’s cheek would turn red. The sound of Seán’s footsteps bring him back to reality and the boy has a pile of towels in hands. He’s agitated, moving too fast and visibly shaking, and he tells Anti to remove his shirt.

 

The green-haired man does so, not questioning, and he knits his eyebrows when Seán starts drying him. He rubs a towel on Anti’s chest and the fabric is soft, warm against his skin. The Irishman seems worried about the blood, wiping it off, and he eyes the man’s throat. He sighs, lips quivering, and Anti feels a faint touch on his scar. They’re close, noses almost brushing, and the boy’s breathing lightly hits his face. Raindrops dripping from Anti’s hair, down to his neck. Seán’s moves change to a slow pace, breathing heavy and just caressing the man’s skin while avoiding his eyes. His thumb brushes on Anti’s cheek, wiping some blood from his chin, and the green-haired man stares intently at him until their eyes meet. There’s a pang in his heart, first words falling from his lips.

 

“You forgot about me.”

 

“Anti… That’s not… I never w-”

 

“How long has it been?” he continues, whispering while the boy grimaces. When there’s no immediate answer, he groans and Seán jerks at his tone. _“How long?”_

 

“F-Five… Five years.”

 

Anti’s face falls and it stings. The Irishman blurts out apologies, trying to explain, but he can’t focus on that. His chest is heavy and he’s cold. He wants to sit down. Anti must mumble that at some point, because Seán goes to the kitchen and comes back with a chair for him. The freckled man drags a hand over his face and he holds back a whimper when sitting down, thankful that his legs didn’t give out right there and then. The brown-haired man stays on his knees in front of Anti, doing his best to dry him up, and he keeps apologizing. It sounds like he’s crying but everything is so overwhelming right now, he can’t bring himself to look up. Gravity crushes him, shoulders hunched over, and he tries taking deep breaths. He keeps his mouth shut, afraid that he’ll throw up whatever is inside him. Now, his mind is alive. There are too many thoughts, it’s deafening. Five years. It’s been five years since he didn’t exist. Since he was forgotten. Erased. It hurts so much. So fucking much. Seán cups his face again, trying to make Anti look at him, and he asks how did the man get there. He scowls, not remembering.

 

“I was just here,” he murmurs. “I was standing on your backyard… And I saw you...”

 

The Irishman rests his forehead against Anti’s, nodding and saying that everything is okay. They are not, but he doesn’t argue. Seán cleans the blood off the man’s hands, whispering that he needs to remove the rest of his wet clothes, but Anti doesn’t care. He’s exhausted and something tells him that, if he tries leaving this chair, he’ll just fall face down on the ground. He doesn’t know how Seán is manhandling him, ruffling his hair, and the boy purses his lips. The Irishman ends up unbuttoning Anti’s pants for him, pushing them down and sliding it off his legs. He rubs the man’s thighs, drying him off in the living room, and he murmurs everything that he’ll do. The green-haired man zones out, letting Seán take off his briefs, only lifting his hips just enough to help. The boy dresses him up, moving Anti’s arms while putting on a sweater and new briefs. He also gives the freckled man a cup of water, telling him to rinse his mouth, and that metallic taste is not as bad as before after he drinks it.

 

“C’mon, let’s get you to bed… You need rest.”

 

Seán puts one of Anti’s arm over his shoulders, holding the man’s waist, and he urges them to get up. The green-haired man groans under his breath, knees weak, and he drags his feet on the floor while they walk. Seán praises him, muttering that he’s doing great and that they’re almost there. Anti recognizes that hallway. Those white walls and stairs. Even though it’s the same house, it feels somewhat different. Like it’s a dream and he can’t quite point it out what’s off about it. The Irishman opens a door to the left, both walking into his bedroom, and he gently lets Anti sit down on the mattress. He pulls the covers, making the bed, and he guides the freckled man until he’s lying down on a soft pillow. That scent. He breathes into that sweet scent that screams Seán, unmistakably. Fresh and light. The mattress dip with a new weight and then, the Irishman whispers his name. Barely there. Anti turns around to face him, tucking his face in the crook of the boy’s neck without a second thought, and they hold each other. He melts in bed, with a heavy heart, but he embraces the warmth that comes after that rain. His eyelids are sandpaper-like and the last thing he feels before falling asleep, is Seán’s lips against his forehead, whispering for forgiveness.

 

He dreams.

 

Anti’s scar opens and his blood is pitch black, thick and oozing down while smearing Seán’s bed. He can’t move, alone, and it doesn’t stop. An ocean of darkness consumes the green-haired man, until his whole body can’t be seen. He drowns in that void, lungs filling with his own fears to choke him up, and it’s bitter in the back of his throat. The scenario changes smoothly, like it’s only normal for that to happen, and Anti’s standing in front of Seán. The boy is talking to someone else and their faces are not quite right. Blurred, not detailed. The freckled man opens his mouth to speak but no voice comes out, only more of that pitch black blood dripping down his chin. He frowns, body jerking while he tries to breathe, and Seán keeps smiling at the person. He doesn’t know Anti is there. The Irishman can’t see him. Black tears stream down his eyes and he can’t reach out for the boy, even when he falls to his knees. Anti throws up that emptiness, clotted in his mouth, and he raises a weak hand in the air before falling even more. A sudden rush of cold hits him and he jolts himself awake, heart beating a mile a minute. He’s disoriented, dim room not making any sense, and he gasps for air too fast.

 

Seán is there, out of the corner of his eye, and he holds Anti by the shoulders while talking to him. His voice is soft, low under his breath, but he sounds worried. The green-haired man grimaces, holding back a sob, and the boy cups his face while saying that he was dreaming. Anti wraps his fingers around Seán’s wrists, leaning into the touch, and he takes a deep breath. The Irishman caresses his now curly hair, soothing him, and Anti’s hazy eyes blink at the ceiling. Alright. Breathe. Just breathe. He’s still there. He exists. The brown-haired man is so close and he doesn’t get that. Anti remembers how much he wanted this, how much he wished for a tender touch and yet only watching the boy from afar. They would exchange looks from across the room, a hint of desire and maybe something else, but they never did anything about it. Anti sighs, calming down, and he moves to sit up. A digital watch on a nightstand tells him is past midday and he can’t believe that he slept that much. Seán asks how he’s feeling but he can only shrug.

 

“Do you feel hungry?” he tries again. “I could make us some breakfast.”

 

Anti nods and the Irishman must consider that a victory, because he smiles. The freckled man stares at that gorgeous face, eyes almost turning into half-moons, and he presses his lips together. Seán tells him go to the bathroom and it takes Anti a moment to realize that he wants to pee. He never quite had trouble with that and he could control those needs. There’s something different. He empties his bladder and washes his face, staring at himself in the mirror. Anti touches his cheek, pulling his skin while looking at his green eyes. He looks exhausted but he’s of flesh and bones. Deep in his mind, he can feel a trace of his old self. His powers. Anti knows he can glitch or flicker the light, but it’s not like before when he couldn’t stop it. The freckled man tugs on his green curls and looks at his hands, closing and opening them. He’s more human than ever. He touches the hem of Seán’s grey sweater and it’s weird to notice that is slightly loose on him. Anti steps out of the bathroom, walking on his briefs and barefoot, and he goes down stairs in slow steps. Fingers brushing on the handrail.

 

When he enters the kitchen, his eyes meet Seán. The boy’s wearing black sweatpants and a white t-shirt, back turned to him. Anti sees the dark cabinets and small kitchen island, recognizing them. Remembering looks between sips of coffee or arguments with angry shouts. Seán turns around, hair messy as if he’s been running his fingers over it too many times, but he smiles again. Quick, a tad nervous. He says he’s making scrambled eggs and toast, something fast for them to put in their stomachs. Anti has no preference but his heart aches at the smell of fresh coffee, nostalgia wrapping him like a blanket. He remembers how everyone would gather around in the kitchen and it was a pure mess between giggles too. Henrik was the only one trying to cook something good, rolling his eyes at everyone. He wonders where they are now. Are they gone too? Or was it just him? He thinks about all of that, leaning against a counter and watching Seán make them breakfast, only moving to set the table as if it’s the old days again.

 

They sit down to eat, the boy across from him, and he sips from his mug. The coffee is more bitter than he remembers but he swallows it, feeling a thin warm line down into his stomach. Seán digs into his food, both quiet, and there’s tension in the air. Every light scratch of their fork against their plate is too loud in their ears, gulps visible, and he feels the Irishman stealing glances. Anti is not angry. Not a single wave of rage brush in his heart. He’s bruised. It’s like Seán shattered him into a million of pieces and just now that Anti is starting to put himself back together. When their plates are empty and their mugs have coffee stains where their lips touched, emerald eyes gaze at sapphire. His hands are resting on his lap, shoulders down, and his long lashes bat against freckled skin.

 

“What made you remember?”

 

The brown-haired man clenches his jaw, hands twitching over the table, and he shakes his head. “I was… I was afraid of being alone and I just… I remembered you.”

 

“What about the others?” Anti questions. “Are they still around?”

 

It hurts when Seán nods, meaning it was just him that disappeared. They all have their places and are living well. Henrik is with Chase and Marvin is with Jackie, but Jameson lives with them too. Sometimes they visit, but they all do their own thing now. Séan also mentions that he barely works on videos. It’s rare, mostly streaming to update his community. He has more time to himself and works as a voice actor occasionally. He’s thirty four years old now, meaning Anti is younger. Everyone moved on. Everyone forgot. Anti nods, processing all that information, and the Irishman grimaces.

 

“You were always different from the others. You were attached to my emotions, my fears… It just happened that I didn’t feel that anymore and I was happy. I… I didn’t think this could happen, I never wished for you to be gone, Anti.”

 

The freckled man scowls, but doesn’t argue. Seán looks devastated, he can’t deny that. They’re both hurting. He looks more mature, though. Anti tilts his head to the side, staring at him, and he whispers that the boy looks good with that longer hair. The Irishman huffs with a small smile, rubbing the back of his neck, and his arms are stronger. Still with narrow waist and slender body, but stronger nonetheless. He’s been working out. No wonder his clothes are more loose on Anti. It’s weird. There was one time where Seán accidently picked the man’s shirt from the drier and he looked so small. The Irishman shrugged at him, deciding to stay with his clothes, and Anti held back the urge to press him against a wall. Maybe he should have done that. Another regret, it seems. There’s a moment of silence and he can tell that Seán has something else to say, but he swallows instead. Anti doesn’t press the matter so they get up, taking their plates off the table. It’s funny when he washes the dishes. The Irishman murmurs he can’t believe that Anti is there, in his kitchen, cleaning plates. He huffs. He can’t believe it either.

 

Seán wants him to stay and the freckled man has no choice but to do so. He has nowhere to go anyways. Anti takes a warm shower and that makes him feel a bit better, and the boy gives him some new clothes. He wears grey sweatpants and a black, long-sleeved shirt. Seán’s scent is all over him and he curses under his breath, running a hand through his hair. He explores around the house, brushing his fingers against books on a shelf, and he sees new knick knacks. Portraits and vinyls. The Irishman doesn’t really know what to do but Anti just murmurs to go on with his day, as if he wasn't there. Seán thinks that’s stupid but the freckled man makes sure to remember that he was doing just fine without him during these five years. The brown-haired man scowls, not liking his answer, and he goes to grab his laptop. Anti looks out that glass door, seeing a grey sky, and it’s still drizzling. Seán sits on his armchair, browsing on the internet, and he’s making an effort to relax.

 

The freckled man sits down on the couch, pulling his legs up and resting his back against the cushions, and he closes his eyes. He doesn’t know how much time passes but Seán sighs a lot, his anxious energy not letting Anti rest. The green-haired man opens his eyes, seeing the boy staring at his screen. A thought crosses his mind and he focuses on the laptop, a wave of electricity under his skin. He takes a picture of Seán from the web camera and opens a window with it, only to see the Irishman’s jaw drop in reaction. Anti snorts, holding back a smirk, and the brown-haired man groans loudly between a chuckle. He says he looks horrible and that the man shouldn’t do that to him. It’s a good thing to know that Anti was right about his powers, though. That he still have them. Seán chuckles some more, deleting the picture, and the man leaves his laptop alone. They exchange a look and the boy has wistful smile on his face.

 

“I missed that,” he says.

 

Anti hums, resting an arm on his stomach, and some of that tension fades during the day. In some ways, it’s easy to go back to their routine. Their chemistry is there and it’s undeniable. He liked teasing Seán a lot, until his cheeks were burning red, and Chase had to tell him to leave the boy alone for five minutes. He also lashed out many times, pouring that anger and blaming Seán for being like that. It was childish but it was the only thing he knew that called the Irishman’s attention. That made him look at Anti, even if it had a hint of fear. He doesn’t know when he started to feel a pull towards the boy and it killed him, little by little. The Irishman stops his train of thought by making some lunch and Anti’s surprised that he knows how to cook now. Although, it has been a long time and Seán had to deal with his own life. The freckled man mostly watches him and they have tea later on the day. Of course that there are questions in the air and nervous glances, both keeping a distance, but the Irishman tries to distract them. He mentioned he was afraid of being alone, so Anti stays by his side, even if they don’t talk much.

 

The rain stops at night and the brown-haired man puts on a movie for them to watch, except Anti doesn’t pay attention to it. The artificial light casts over them in the dim room and his mind wanders. Should he try being closer to Seán, now that he’s back? Does the Irishman even wants that? Maybe that shine in the boy’s eyes whenever they looked at each other was nothing more but a trick of the light. Maybe it meant nothing. Anti wants to touch him, though. He wants comfort after so much pain and it takes a lot of him not to lie down on Seán’s lap. He looks away when the brown-haired man turns his face, asking if he’s alright. The freckled man nods, eyes glued to the tv but having no idea what’s going on. Seán’s gaze lingers but he goes back to watching the movie. Anti huffs when he looks again and, honestly, are they going to do this all the time now? The boy ducks his head with a smile, apologizing, and he whispers that he’s just making sure that the man is still there. It makes Anti’s heart ache.

 

They only find their hold once they’re in bed. The Irishman says he doesn’t mind the man there and it’s him that comes closer. Anti lies on his side, back facing Seán, but then there’s an arm wrapping around his waist. A warm breath on the back of his neck, making him shiver. They move under the covers, adjusting, and the brown-haired man spoons him. Anti is concerned about his dreams, not quite wanting to sleep, but Seán’s warmth soothes him. He wonders if that’s what they’ll be doing now. He wonders if he’ll be forgotten again while drifting into sleep. And of course that he has nightmares. The green-haired man cuts Seán’s throat in his dreams, even though he doesn’t want to, and he watches the boy fall down to the ground. Anti immediately goes to him, trying to cover that deep wound, and they’re both trembling. The Irishman convulses, choking on his blood, and the freckled man weeps. Tears streaming down and hitting Seán’s cheeks. A bed of crimson forms underneath them and he can’t speak again, as if his very own throat has been sliced open.

 

It’s the Irishman who’s there for him when he wakes up in the middle of the night, ready to hold him. Anti groans, blinking tears away, and Seán shushes him. He turns around until the brown-haired man is practically on top of him, rising up and down with his breathing, and Anti’s hands go up to his waist. Fingers sliding under his shirt and feeling that milky skin. They’re both groggy from sleep and Seán doesn’t stop that caress, only relaxes above him. The Irishman buries his face in the crook of Anti’s neck and their legs tangle under the covers, a sigh into his ear. The freckled man hugs him, rolling up his shirt some more just to feel him, and he takes deep breaths. Séan whispers sweet nothings, that he’s there and it’ll pass. Whatever this is. That it was just a bad dream. Anti thinks it was a bad dream that lasted five years, though. Still, he closes his eyes and tigthens their hold.

 

Things change after that.

 

After that first impact of seeing one another, they learn their pace again. They get a bit more playful and he thinks it’s not an accident whenever Seán brushes their shoulders as the days go. Whenever their fingers touch when going for the control remote or a mug. Sometimes the Irishman’s cell phone rings, interrupting a movie session, and he excuses himself to pick up the call. Anti could listen but he doesn’t pry. Instead, he keeps debating when it’s the right time to do something. Sometimes Seán comes back with a light frown, flushed cheeks, but he pretends not to see it. The Irishman steals some popcorn and presses play, complaining about the movie scenes, and Anti just hums. Is it too late to caught up with Seán’s life after all that time? Will he want to share his problems or keep hiding like that? God, he’s a fucking teenager. What happened to him? His stomach does something funny when the Irishman laughs at something on the screen and he wants to bottle that sound for himself.

 

Seán doesn’t tell the others about Anti. Not yet. It’s just them and the freckled man’s possessive nature is pleased with that. They go out to eat a few days later and Anti is overwhelmed by the world, eyes looking around everywhere and getting used to it. Seán really wanted them to leave the house and show some places that he likes, and he thinks it’s cute how the green-haired man is acting like a little kid. Anti would be offended and make a snarky comment back, but the sight of the Irishman smiling at him with half-moon eyes makes it worth being called an excited child. Seán holds his hand, pulling him into an arcade on the pier, and there are so many colors and sounds. He’s never been there, but he finds it funny to mess around with some machines and make Seán win several times. Sometimes losing, only to see that pout. The green-haired man holds back a few amused huffs himself, biting his inner cheeks, and they eat at a nice restaurant. No one stops them. No one recognizes Seán, and, even if they do, it’s just them all day.

 

Except that it isn’t.

 

A week has passed and they’re at the kitchen, the man watching the boy cook like usual. It’s a comfortable silence for once and Anti can’t stop thinking about Seán’s lips. He can’t stop thinking about his perfume and soft skin. He likes that small bun and full beard, recently trimmed, and he likes that the dark circles under the boy’s eyes are gone. Anti’s nightmares have lessened a bit, still seeking the Irishman’s comfort at night, but he feels whole. Seán shuffles on his feet, a low tune playing from a radio on the counter, and he dances by himself. The man’s lips curl into a faint smile and his heart flutters. The brown-haired man turns to look at him, exaggerating on a move with a huge grin, and Anti shakes his head. It hurts holding back so much, during all his existence. Maybe there isn’t a right moment. Maybe he just have to go forward. Seán goes to him, taking his hands so they can dance, but Anti pushes him backwards instead. The freckled man slides his fingers under the boy’s shirt and the Irishman’s back rests against the fridge, his own hands on Anti’s arms. His heart races when their noses touch. The man closes his eyes, tilting his head and leaning forward, only to feel Seán’s lips brushing lightly. Then, nothing.

 

“W-What are you doing?!” the Irishman blurts out, turning away, and Anti’s hit by a cold wave of anxiety. That pain he always feared to feel. Seán’s eyes are wide, hot puffs of air leaving his mouth, and Anti doesn’t like the words that come out of him. “I’m… I’m d-dating someone.”

 

“Ah.”

 

“Yeah,” Seán clears his throat, eyes flickering down and back at him. He’s flustered, still holding Anti. Both so close he can practically hear the boy’s heart beating like a drum. “It’s been almost a year… S-She… I’ll see her tonight...“

 

Gravity threatens to crush Anti just like that night and, for the first time, he wishes to disappear. A nauseous wave mixed with shame burns inside him and he can’t do nothing about it. Of course. The phone calls. Seán’s blushing, lost just like Anti, and the man lets his arms fall back to his side. He hides every trace emotion of his face, staring at the boy, and he hums.

 

“Do you love her?” he asks, not knowing how his voice didn’t crack.

 

Seán purses his lips, eyelashes flickering, and mouth opening and closing. He stopped to think. “I… Yeah.”

 

Anti narrows his eyes, a known rage finally kissing his heart, and he almost forgot how it feels to have jealousy. He’s not sure if Seán is being honest with himself, but he steps back. The Irishman calls for him under his breath and Anti tells him to forget about what happened, leaving the kitchen. He walks into the living room, opening the glass door, and he steps on the porch. He can’t be inside right now. Everything has Seán’s scent and he needs to breathe. Anti sits down on the floor, resting his elbows on his knees, and he looks at the backyard. It’s not a grey day but he wishes for rain. Maybe it’ll make him go away. The green-haired man imagines his flesh peeling off his bones, melting away until he’s one with the rain. He’s angry at himself for being a fool and he’s heartbroken for having hope. Betrayed by himself. Seán doesn’t follow him, thankfully leaving him alone to his embarrassment, and he stays outside for a long time.

 

There’s a black hole in his chest, but it doesn’t consume him. It’s just there to make him uncomfortable, to be aware of how fucked he is. In every slightly move, Anti thinks he’s going to break and part of him is disappointed when nothing happens. He hears the glass door sliding open hours later and Seán’s voice behind him is small. He says that Anti needs to eat, asking for him to come inside, but the freckled man stays still. He doesn’t open his mouth, barely blinking forward, and there’s a sigh before the door closes again. Is it his destiny to suffer? Is this a punishment for all the harm he had caused before? He realizes how hard he’s clenching his jaw, so he relaxes, light frown on his face. Anti’s stomach growls and yet he refuses to eat. He doesn’t move and the sun’s setting by the time Seán shows up again. The freckled man can’t feel that ghostly touch in his hands anymore, nor that brush of their lips, and the Irishman clears his throat.

 

“I’m going out...” he says. “Please, eat something, okay?”

 

Each faint footsteps of Seán is like a knife hitting his back. He hears the boy leaving and then, he’s alone. It doesn’t rain so Anti can only count with his imagination to disappear. He comes back inside and sits on the couch, staring at his silhouette on the tv screen. The Irishman was making him watch movies that he missed. Anti turns on the tv, blank expression scrolling through movie titles until he picks one to catch up, and he does his best to distract himself. It works for a while, mind calming down, and he rests against the couch to get more comfortable. He still doesn’t eat but he stops to brush his teeth, not liking that bitter taste in his mouth. His concern only returns when night falls and Seán hasn’t come back. There’s a pang in his heart when the thought of someone else kissing the Irishman crosses his mind, and he wonders if she’s grateful for every second of it. If she pecks his lips after each deep kiss. When it’s time to sleep, he lies on the right side of the bed like usual, and he stares at the white ceiling. Is he having sex with her? Is he moaning into her mouth instead of Anti’s? He thinks he’s ridiculous. Look at him. How human he has become. The others would laugh at him.

 

Anti turns around, burying his face into the pillow, and Seán’s scent is intoxicating. He stares at that digital clock and, at every blink, an hour passes. He manages to fall asleep at one in the morning but as soon as that darkness comes out of his mouth, like spiders crawling in his dreams, he wakes up. Anti gasps for air, immediately sitting up, and there’s no one there to sooth him. That left side is still empty. The green-haired man groans, resting a hand on his forehead, and he can’t handle this. He can’t handle having a body right now. To dream. Anti scowls, focusing deep down in his energy, and he glitches out of the room with a sharp sound. The freckled man goes to Seán’s laptop, only his essence existing for a while. He stays there until morning comes, not prying. Just resting. There are no nightmares when he’s like that and even his hunger ceases. Something sparks his attention after a while and he switches back to the television, only to see Seán closing the front door. The Irishman sighs and rests his forehead against it before looking around.

 

He calls for Anti, saying he’s home, but the green-haired man just watches. Seán walks into the kitchen and then checks the backyard, his name once again falling from the boy’s lips. He goes upstairs, voice turning shaky every time he calls, and he checks every room. Anti keeps moving through electricity, seeing Seán get more desperate, and he walks into the bedroom. The Irishman’s breathing loses pace and his eyes wander fast, shouting for Anti to tell where he is. The green-haired man wonders if he should just stay hidden, but he can’t bring himself to hurt the boy like that. Not anymore. Anti glitches into the room, standing behind Seán, and the Irishman turns around at the sound. He gasps, immediately closing the space between them and hugging the man. Arms around his shoulders.

 

“Oh, thank god! You’re here!” Seán breathes, tightening their hold, and Anti wraps his arms around his waist. He can’t resist. “Jesus, don’t do that me again! You scared me!”

 

Anti can’t be seeing things. The Irishman moves just enough to look at him, noses brushing, and he caresses the man’s cheek. The boy’s eyes flicker down to his mouth, but he clears his throat, stepping back. If this means nothing, how cruel of Seán to do this to him. The brown-haired man asks if he ate and Anti purses his lips, shaking his head. Pathetic. He can’t even lie to the kid. The Irishman takes him by the hand, saying he’ll make something for them, and the freckled man entwines their fingers. Seán doesn’t pull away. In fact, he squeezes his hand back. Anti doesn’t even look twice at the food that the boy puts on his plate. He just eats and Seán tells him to slow down, so he won’t get sick. It should feel strange going back to their routine but it’s not. The Irishman doesn’t avoid him and rather wants to spend time with Anti. They watch more movies during the day but there’s also quiet moments in between, of just them in the living room. Anti makes them tea and Seán thanks him, resting his face on the man’s shoulder. Why is he still there?

 

It rains that day and he likes hearing the raindrops hitting that glass door. He can’t go outside and see if that imagination would come to life, trapped with the boy leaning against him. Seán mumbles something about being comfortable and Anti finishes his drink, feeling his throat closing. When they go upstairs, heading to the bedroom, he stops by the doorframe. He watches Seán making the bed and the boy notices him standing there, asking what’s wrong. There’s a thunder outside. If the Irishman has a relationship and he’s not alone, why is Anti back? Why is Seán lying to himself? Why are they not together? Are they just going to keep pretending that they don’t feel attracted to each other? Is it going to be like that all over again? If that’s so, Anti doesn’t want to exist.

 

“Forget me,” Anti whispers and Seán perks up at his words. “I’ll even swallow the rest of my pride and beg of you… Just forget me.”

 

“What are you talking about?” he replies and the distance between them is like a sea of thorns. Every step will hurt. “I can’t do that...”

 

The freckled man clenches his jaw, scowling, and the corners of his eyes burn with unwelcome tears.

 

“You knew!” he snaps and Seán jumps out of his skin, wide eyes glued to his. “You knew how I felt for you! All this time! We both knew! Stop lying! Stop denying! What do you want from me, if you don’t want me in the same way?! I-”

 

A sob leaves his lips, chest aching, and he blinks only to feel tears streaming down his face. Another hiccup, eyes burning, and he groans weakly under his breath. God, what’s wrong with him? Seán’s face is so torn and he can’t deal with that. The freckled man bends over, covering his face, and he tries not to fall. It hurts and he weeps. He weeps just like that dream he had. The Irishman calls him, so softly, and he whimpers. There’s a hand on his shoulder and he flinches at that, sucking in air. Seán tries pulling him but Anti growls, grabbing him by the shirt and pushing him backwards. The brown-haired man gasps, back hitting a wall with a thud, and Anti clashes their lips together in a desperate action. The Irishman breathes hard through his nose, both knitting their eyebrows, and their beards brush. No one moves but the freckled man adds pressure, begging in his heart. Then, Seán opens his mouth. It’s a brief, shy kiss but enough for Anti to breathe. He cups the man’s face, but their lips make a sound when the boy pulls back. Hot puffs of air into his mouth.

 

“I-I… I c-can’t, I can’t… Fuck.” Seán brushes their lips together again but holds back. “I’ve n-never… Anti, let me go...”

 

Anti grimaces and they both tug on their clothes, clinging. They rub their cheeks against one another, wanting more, but Seán keeps turning his face to the other side when he tries going for a second kiss. The Irishman’s face is smeared with Anti’s tears and the man whispers that he _can_ do this. That he needs to stop hiding. Seán shakes his head, his own eyes teary, and he pushes Anti away. He grabs a jacket and the freckled man asks where he’s going, but he gets no answer. The brown-haired man leaves the room and Anti doesn’t find strength to follow him. He just falls on his knees, hands going up to his face, and he hears the boy walking out of the house once more. This time, he makes himself melt on purpose. As if his own particles detach and he shows up in bed instead, not daring to actually move. Anti wipes his tears and he closes his eyes, taking deep breaths. He licks his lips, that faint taste of Seán’s on his, and he can’t stop thinking that the Irishman kissed him. He wants it. They both want it. Anti saw in those sapphire eyes, that spark and rush of desire, and yet he left from the man’s arms.

 

The sky pours, rain falling without mercy, and the lightnings flash into the room every now and then. He curls into a ball, brushing fingers over his scar as if he’s afraid it’ll open like that first night. Anti can’t sleep, tossing left and right, so he gets up and paces around the house. He remembers old days when he would pull pranks on Marvin and Jackie. When he would even just misplace Henrik’s glasses and watch him look for it, only to see Seán shaking his head at him. Anti would smirk and disappear, despite wanting to stay the most. How stupid he was, avoiding his emotions and making things worse. He regrets so much. He regrets losing all those five years. Five years where they could’ve been better with each other. Anti sits on the couch in the living room, resting a chin on the armchair and looking out the glass door. The room is dark, only the lightnings casting down and showing his green eyes. He pictures himself in that backyard, bleeding, and a frightened Irishman.

 

It’s two in the morning when the sound of a key can be heard and Anti turns his face to see Seán walking inside. He’s ready to go back to ignoring, but then he notices the Irishman shuddering. Anti stands up and Seán’s soaking wet, long hair loose and sticking to his face. They exchange a look and his lips part, watching the boy hugging himself from the cold. Something snaps in the freckled man’s mind and he glitches quickly to grab some towels, showing up right in front of him. The green-haired man throws one over Seán’s shoulders, rubbing him to get some warmth, and his lips quiver. He asks what happened, hands moving to check if the boy is hurt somewhere, and his heart races. Anti cups his face, turning left and right while looking for a bruise, and he pushes the Irishman’s hair back. Seán shakes his head and holds Anti’s arms, fingers clutching onto his long-sleeved shirt to make him stop. The man frowns and they lock their gaze, a brief silence between them. Rain muffled in the background and a lightning illuminates Seán’s face. He looks calm, despite the shivers, and he surprises Anti once again with his words.

 

“You think that being in my t-thirties, I would know what to do and be better… That I would be married, with a stable relationship, and not keep fucking things up. J-Jumping from relationship to relationship,” he whispers. ”I… We had just fought and things weren’t well. I thought I was gonna die alone and I remembered you. I _begged_ for you to be real. I wanted to see you… And then, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I don’t think I ever stopped, ever since you came b-back…” He tightens his hold on Anti’s shirt and the man swallows. “I broke up with her.”

 

“S-”

 

“You were wrong,” the boy continues, shaking his head. “I do want you in the same way. I always did, deep down, but I kept ignoring it. T-Telling myself it was stupid and it’d go away, but it didn’t! And my god, you look at me like I’m the fucking moon! I’ve just… I’ve never been with a man before. And it’s you! Of all people, it’s _you._ I’ve never done this! I’m fucking terrified and everything c-changed, it’s so confusing but I don’t want to be miserable! If I keep pretending, I w-won’t make it.”

 

Seán’s face scrunches up, tears falling from his eyes, and Anti wipes them away while nodding. The freckled man shushes him and, despite a new wave of hope hitting him, he can’t leave the boy like that. He can’t get sick. Anti holds him by the waist and glitches them into the bathroom, hearing Seán groan at the sudden change, and the man apologizes under his breath for that. It’s a bit disorienting at first. The green-haired man removes his jacket, telling him to have a warm shower and that he’ll leave some clothes for him. The Irishman sighs, looking down at the floor, and Anti steps into the bedroom to find some clothes in a dresser. He grabs a grey t-shirt and sweatpants, warm enough for the night, and Seán’s rolling up his damp shirt when he walks in. Anti looks away, the tips of his ears burning, and he places the clothes over the toilet before leaving him alone. The freckled man rests his back against the door, dragging a hand over his face, and he draws in air. Fuck. Did he hear that right? Did Seán really say those things? Was he really right about their feelings?

 

It feels like an eternity passes while he waits for the boy to shower. He sits on the bed for a while, then peaks through the curtains to see rain falling. Tangled lines streaming down the window. He sighs, seeing his weak reflection there, touching his freckled cheeks. For a moment, Anti swears that his eyes are pitch black, so he looks away. He doesn’t want to be carried away by his own anxiety. Not right now. He hears shuffling and he stares at the bathroom door, holding his breath when the doorknob moves. Seán walks out, fully dressed, and his cheeks are flushed from the warm shower. Anti’s hit by that sweet scent, so fresh in his lungs like new flowers blooming, and he wouldn’t mind to choke on them. The Irishman pushes his hair back, some brown strands still managing to fall, and the freckled man thinks he’s gorgeous. The kid was right. The man does look at Seán like he’s the moon itself and his heart howls desperately. Longs for him. Anti slowly makes his way towards him, unsure, and they don’t take their eyes off each other. Seán raises his hands, lightly touching the man’s arms, and they’re face-to-face. The boy’s skin is soft and warm, not shivering anymore, and he would die in his arms if the Irishman asked him to.

 

There’s a whisper, barely there, but Anti catches it nonetheless. The brown-haired man murmurs he’s nervous, both knowing this is something new despite their feelings being old, and the freckled man hums. He wants Seán to close his eyes and the boy purses his lips, but nods while doing so. Anti takes a deep breath, his own heart skipping a beat, and he slowly leans forward while they hold their arms close. His lips part and Seán makes a small sound of surprise when their mouths touch. The freckled man waits, just brushing his lips and breathing there until the Irishman does the same. Anti’s gentle, so different from that first time, and he kisses Seán lightly. He draws in air and it’s like the sun itself shines inside him when the brown-haired man returns the gesture. Their beards scratch and Anti moves back, lips lazily pulling away. The freckled man pecks him briefly and Seán looks at him through half-lidded eyes, raising his hands to cup the back of Anti’s neck. The Irishman kisses him again and they tilt their heads, opening their mouths more, and they hum when their tongues touch. Anti wraps his arms around Seán’s waist, holding so tight, and he tastes sweetness in their wet lips. Pure honey. The Irishman caresses his hair and a few tears fall from Anti’s green eyes.

 

Seán huffs, brushing his thumbs on the man’s cheeks to wipe them away, but he’s also teary. Anti leans down to just feel the Irishman’s neck in his mouth, not quite leaving hickeys. He doesn’t want that right now. There will be time. It’s just soft kisses, tasting that porcelain skin, and he loves to hear Seán sigh. Moaning under his breath and ducking his head to hide redden cheeks. All that pain, all those regrets make that moment so delightful. It’s a suffocating relief. A catharsis. It’s something fragile too, both learning how they’ll dance to this new song with one another. Seán moves his head for another kiss and Anti brushes his split tongue on the Irishman’s lips, sucking on it. His heart flutters and the boy rests his forehead against the man’s, letting out a shaky breath. Anti swallows, lost in that bliss, and he asks how did that feel. Voice hoarse, dragging his words. Seán’s eyelashes are damp from his silent tears and his lips quiver, holding back a sob while nodding. He mutters that it feels like everything that he ever wanted and that rips out a whimper from Anti, burying his face into the crook of Seán’s neck. They hug and it’s like the Irishman is keeping him whole, all the cracks of his heart being put back together.

 

It’s terrifying but this is a second chance. There’s a thunder and Anti feels that in his bones, like a spark of courage to always do what the boy wants. Even if he asks the man to rip out his own heart, he’d gladly do it. He’d do anything at all. He breathes into Seán’s scent, sighing, and home is right there in his arms.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I could have done something completely different in the end. I could have crushed him, but I guess I went a bit Jane Austen there. Making characters suffer and yet have what they want in the end. I love them too much hahah. This is a bit different from what I've been posting lately, so I hope this was still nice to read! Just to be clear too: Seán's girlfriend in this story is NOT Gab and it has nothing to do with them. It's just a random character. No hate here hahah. I also made a small playlist of the songs I was listening to while writing this piece, so I'll leave links below. Would love to hear your thoughts! See you all soon! :)
> 
>  
> 
> [Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/marvelsoo/playlist/1Ia1eMWv07kx0ZJBJ4Mj3m?si=9BPVLB5-S7edEZPjnaj4jQ)  
> [My tumblr](http://sparklepines.tumblr.com/)  
> [If you like what I do, feel free to show some support!](https://ko-fi.com/sparklepines)  
> 


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